


R + E

by wastelandbaby



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Boys Kissing, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Pining, Touch-Starved, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-12 08:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20561546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastelandbaby/pseuds/wastelandbaby
Summary: Richie remembers why they call this place the kissing bridge.





	1. present

**Author's Note:**

> [ben wyatt voice] could a depressed person do THIS???

Cold droplets of water slipping through his dark strands of hair slowly drip into Richie’s eyes. He blinks them away, though the action doesn’t make his vision clearer. With eyes untrained on any fixed point, the line of his shoulders trembles just enough to rustle the wet fabric clung to his skin.

It must have been at least an hour since the others trickled away one by one, leaving him to sit on the bank of the quarry by himself. The sun dipped lower in the sky, basking everything around Richie in a gold he couldn’t find the energy to appreciate. A breeze whispered through the trees surrounding the quarry, by all accounts it was the perfect evening. But he couldn’t help the way the wind seeped through his soaked clothing, leaving its bitter, cold kiss on his skin in its wake.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Richie loosened the grip he had on his own arms, body folded up, knees tucked underneath his elbows. The ache of sitting in one spot for too long settled into his bones, groaning aloud as he pushed off of the gravel embankment. The small stones lay unsettled where he’d just spent the last hour or so.

Richie wipes what might’ve been water from the quarry or tears off of his cheeks. Taking a deep breath, he puts one foot in front of the other and heads off to find where his car is parked. 

The air in Derry had always been laced with something heavy, something dark. Now, it was all so clear and bright that Richie couldn’t help but feel dizzy. Gravel gave way to small amounts of foliage peeking out of the ground. He scuffed his feet through the brush, dragging himself up the slope of the hill.

_Richie. _

_I need to tell you something._

Decades of potential, decades of wanting, tightly coiled like a shiny new spring. Richie couldn’t have leaned in any closer, hanging on every one of Eddie’s labored breaths. His chest heaved and trails of dark blood ran from his lips. Streams of tears mixed into the crimson mess, cutting clear streaks through it. His lips trembled, forming words that could not escape. Richie was prepared, he was ready to say it back, “I lo—”

_I fucked your mom._

The words died on Richie’s tongue, his mouth slamming shut. Screams from the others filled the air, the impending doom of their situation weighing down on Richie. He can’t help but smile at Eddie, though. He squeezes his hand once, twice, as a promise that he’ll be right back. He’ll be right back, he just needs to kill this fucking clown. 

And he came right back, he really did, but it wasn’t quick enough. He couldn’t save Eddie, they wouldn’t let him. Richie went lightheaded from screaming, his throat raw and his heart threatening to give out. If it hadn’t been for his body being pumped full of adrenaline, he would’ve passed out. If the others didn’t physically rip him from the scene, he would’ve lied down right next to Eddie and let the whole world collapse around them and swallow them whole.

Water rushing faded into nothing with every step Richie took up the hill. His shoes and button-down were still at the top of the cliff, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. There would always be another ugly shirt in his wardrobe. 

In the distance, he caught sight of the bridge's tunnel. Vaguely remembering parking his car near it, he pivots his body toward the structure and drags himself onward. He can’t tell if he’s breathing heavily from the steep incline in the terrain or if he’s starting to come apart at the seams. Probably a bit of both.

As Richie reaches the top of the hill, he notices that he left his car parked on an angle in the middle of the street. He’s lucky this bridge isn’t too well-traveled, or his car definitely would’ve taken some damage by now. At least no one stole it, with the keys left very obviously in the ignition.

They used to call this place the kissing bridge back when they were all kids. Richie wondered if the locals still called it that, or if the young people still came here to do their business and write their names on the walls of the tunnel. If you had any pride, you tried to get your name on the fence. It was prime real estate, if you could find a spot. Richie remembers—

A sudden jolt of awareness shocks Richie back into the present moment, he’s just been standing on the bridge, staring at the fence. He remembers finding a spot, a good one. The warm asphalt scrapes against the fabric of his socks as he makes his way over to the old wooden fence. 

Scanning the many short messages and sets of initials littering its surface, Richie walks along the length of the barrier. It doesn’t take long, the fence only has a handful of panels, he stops moving, stops breathing altogether. 

There, nestled between some messy words stained in black marker and another carving, they sit. 

_R + E_

Thin markings that Richie runs his shaking fingers over. The wood somewhat softened from time and rot, he feels the shallow indents he made all those years ago. He takes in a ragged breath. 

He stares.

_R + E_

Markings made by a scared teenage boy, another oath he made at one point. He can’t stand looking at it, not as it is.

Richie spins on his heels, tearing his eyes away from the spot. He all but runs to his open car, ripping open the glovebox. Rustling around in the useless junk he keeps in there, he finds a small pocketknife that he keeps for opening fan mail and packages.

Rushing back to the fence, he kneels to the ground, his knees colliding with the street. Resting his left hand on top of the board, Richie gets to work. He digs his knife into the surface of the fence. He grunts with effort as he carves into the lines he previously scratched into the wood. 

Hot tears run down Richie’s cheeks, ugly sounds escaping him as he stabs and drags away wood shavings, projecting the full force of his crushing grief onto the shaky old fence. 

When he’s done, when he can no longer hold the knife, his hands shaking with his full-body sobs, Richie sits. He sits, and his face falls into a deadpan, and the tears stop running because nothing feels real anymore.

The sun drips liquid gold over every surface, seeping into the faded wood. Small rocks dig into Richie’s ass as he sits on the ground. 

_R + E_

Now, the cuts were much deeper, much wider. The discoloration on the surface of the fence peeled away once he carved deep enough.

Richie slowly rises to his feet, slipping one foot behind the other. He takes small steps backward, keeping his eyes locked on his work. Without his glasses, it doesn’t take long for the sharper edges of their initials to blur. As he gets further away, though, the color of the deep gashes does not fade, even if he can’t make out the letters. He only stops when his backside collides with his parked car

It’s the most visible marking on the whole bridge. It’s bold.

It’s what Eddie deserved.

As Richie finally sits in the driver’s seat, turning the keys in the ignition, he laughs. Impossibly, he smiles so hard his cheeks begin to hurt. He guesses Mike wasn’t totally right, he hadn’t remembered everything. Not until right this moment.

The engine turns over, and Richie sits alone in his car, remembering.


	2. past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cuddling! wrestling! a piggy-back ride! what more could anyone want!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is a reddie playlist i made if anyone wants to listen
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/spacecadetari/playlist/6aTUKK52l8bFsMRHR5qOJQ?si=7wdobQS1Q8irf_OD7uAthw

Action tags on the pages of the comic book Richie is reading go blurry in the instant that Eddie kicks him in the side of his head. His glasses sit askew on his face.

_“Hey, Rich, your ten minutes are up.”_

_“What are you talking about?”_

_“The hammock. Ten minutes each was the rule.”_

_“I don’t see any sign.”_

_“Are you being this way right now, really? No, no, no, no. Why would there be a sign if it was a verbal agreement?”_

_“I don’t—”_

Richie shouldn’t have let him weasel his bony body into the hammock, to begin with. He thought Eddie would at least be tolerable to share with, if he had to share with anyone at all. But the little fucker wants attention.

The fabric of Eddie’s sock rubs up against his cheek threateningly, before he can even manage to adjust his fallen glasses. Richie grabs Eddie’s ankle, shoving his leg over the side of the hammock. It doesn’t work. 

Swingling slightly from the force of Eddie’s movements, the hammock groans under both of their weights. Richie feels pointy kneecaps digging into his own legs. He looks up from his comic book again just in time to watch Eddie, focused intently, folding and tucking his legs between Richie’s.

When Richie manages to look away from their tangles legs, he steals a glance at Eddie’s face. His eyes bore into Richie’s, his tongue poking at his upper lip.

He was giving Richie the same look he always gave him when he was proposing a challenge. It was a stupid face, Richie thought. He let out an exasperated huff, “Can I read this now?”

Eddie looked dazed, but he still snorted, “You can read?”

Raising the comic book closer to his face, Richie put on an obnoxious falsetto and mock-repeated, “You can read?”

“I do _not_ sound like that.” Eddie pouted.

Richie dialed up the shrillness in his voice, “I do _not_ sound like that.”

From across the room, Stan yelled, “Can you two shut the fuck up for, like, at least one minute?” He turned back to the puzzle he was currently assembling with Bill.

Lowering himself deeper into the hammock, Richie snickered. Eddie crossed his arms, muttering something under his breath at a rapid pace. With his eyes trained back on the page, Richie read the same panels for the third time. 

Eddie lightly drums his fingers on Richie’s calf, effectively causing him to forget what he’s just read, again. Giving up on the comic book, he stared ahead at the panels until his eyes unfocused and all of the bright colors melded together. The soft pitter-patter of Eddie’s fingertips dancing across his skin felt so nice. No one ever so much as hugged Richie, so it felt nice.

He let it go on, pretending to ignore it entirely. Turning the pages of the comic book to act as if he were still reading.

Richie nearly falls asleep from the delicate sensation. Nearly, until Eddie stops just tapping on his legs. Eddie introduces a new touch into his arsenal; he begins to leave short strokes up and down Richie’s skin. Just once every now and again.

It’s okay, Richie can deal with Eddie being a little freak about feeling up his legs. He can deal.

Richie hadn’t realized up until this point that his eyes had slipped shut amidst the small contact. He hadn’t realized until Eddie, ever so gently, scrapes his blunt nails along the skin of Richie’s ankle. His eyes fly wide open, and it takes everything in him not to physically jerk his body away from Eddie.

Lowering the comic book, Richie shoots Eddie a look that asks _hey what the fuck are you doing?_ But Eddie is already looking toward Richie, a gleam in his eye that says _I dare you to say something out loud._

But that’s a stupid dare. To dare Richie to use his words. Eddie seems to realize this, refraining from scratching Richie again. He removes one hand, biting a fingernail absentmindedly, leaving just the one to return to idly tapping away at Richie’s leg. 

He could deal. In a last-ditch effort to read his comic book, Richie turns back the pages and once again focuses in on the same panels he’s been staring at for twenty minutes. 

Again, the hammock swings gently as Richie feels Eddie shifting his position. Their legs remain intertwined, but the way all of Eddie’s weight seems to be in the middle of the hammock now throws Richie off. He ignores it, though, in favor of attempting to finally find out what’s going to happen in the comic book. 

Richie feels a force push against the spine of the comic, forcing the pages closer to his face. He lowers it, again, only to be met with Eddie’s face very close to his. Too close. Richie can’t do this anymore. 

Closing the comic book, and halfway rolling it up, he whips it at Eddie’s blank face, at his staring eyes. Richie growls, “Come _on_,”

Eddie shrieks in response to the whack in his face, flailing his arms every which way.

“I swear to fucking god,” Stan yells from across the room.

Now, Eddie has regained his composure. He snatches the comic book clean out of Richie’s hands, tossing it out of his way. 

“Hey! Ben got that for me from the library,” Richie spits. Eddie is pushing him now, deeper into the hammock, they’re both in the very center, the whole thing groaning under the circumstances. 

“You think I give a shit?” Eddie is on top of him not, legs straddling his waist, though they’re still tucked into one another so Eddie’s legs are trapped underneath Richie’s. He jabs his fingers into Richie’s sides, “I’m gonna make you eat it!” 

The hammock shakes, Richie pushes back, knowing that he’s ultimately stronger than Eddie. The smaller boy falls backward easily enough, waving his arms around to find purchase on any surface. 

“Dude, why are you being like this?” Richie’s tone is harsher than he intends, but what is he supposed to do? He doesn’t let Eddie answer, starting in again, “Who the fuck do y—”

Suddenly, both boys are sprawled across the floor in a mess of limbs. Richie’s glasses fall off of his face again, he quickly grabs them, adjusting them on his nose. Eddie kicks him in the stomach, lightly. He lunges to pin Eddie to the dusty floor, that’ll really get him. He hates dust. 

But then, “SHUT UP!”

They freeze, stopping their antics long enough to look over and see Stan and Bill standing behind the hammock. Stan’s chest is heaving from annoyance, his cheeks tinged pink.

Richie and Eddie forget whatever they were just doing. Eddie screaming, “Did you two just fuckin’ push us out of the goddamn hammock?”

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Richie echoes. 

Stan looks indignant, sticking his chin up and folding his arms across his chest, “I just want to finish the puzzle but I can’t _think_ with either of you wreaking havoc over here!”

“It’s just a puzzle,” Eddie says.

“S-Shut up, Eddie,” Bill chimes in, “Just s-stop causing trouble.”

“It’s all him!” Richie can feel his face getting red, for once it’s not his fault. 

“Don’t care,” huffs Stan, “Just stop.”

At this point, their legs are still tangled, and Eddie is halfway across Richie’s lap. Richie begins to detangle himself from this whole mess. He stands, going to find his comic book. He mumbles, “I’ll just leave.”

Eddie begins, “No, don’t—”

“It’s fine. It’s getting late anyway.”

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“Fuck off!” Richie finds his lost comic book, and turns on his heel towards the ladder. He climbs up and away from all the commotion. Maybe he’ll go to the library for one, finish reading in peace and quiet. Yeah, that’ll be the day. 

Wiping his hands off on his jean shorts, he tries to orient himself. He always forgets which way is which whenever he leaves the clubhouse, since it is basically just a hole in the ground. He has a system, each of the bushes and trees looks different that face each direction. 

The short bush for town, the skinny tree for home, the mossy tree for—

“I knew you weren’t going home.” Eddie lets out over labored breaths from climbing the short ladder. Richie feels his eyes roll into the back of his skull. He asks, “What do you want?”

“Nothing, I just knew you weren’t going home.”

“Well congratu-fuckin-lations genius! Wanna prize or something?” Richie continues his trek past the mossy tree. 

Walking at a brisk pace, hoping to lose Eddie, Richie stares at the brush on the ground blur past in his peripheral vision. The foliage eventually gives way to small rocks.

From behind him, he hears, “Are you going to the quarry?”

“No,” Richie walks past the bank of the quarry. He doesn’t elaborate. 

Richie would’ve believed Eddie turned back to finally leave him alone, save for the occasional wheezing breaths he was taking trying to keep up with Richie’s pace. He still hung about six feet behind, unable to catch up completely. 

Once again, he heard distantly, “Oh no,”

Stopping in his tracks, Richie turns around. He lets out a harsh, “What?”

Eddie doesn’t seem phased by the harshness, though. He just gives a vague gesture with his arm in the general direction they’re walking. He takes a deep breath, “This hill is too steep. I can’t walk up it without my inhaler.”

It takes a lot of effort not to roll his eyes at Eddie again. He’s never needed that stupid inhaler. Looking at Eddie now, though, all of his anger from before dissipates. He sticks an arm out, “Here,”

Taking a step closer, Eddie gives him a quizzical look. He takes Richie’s hand, stepping into his personal space, “I’m not sure holding your hand on the way up will help, Rich.”

Now, Richie does roll his eyes. He turns around, “Shut up, dipshit. Hop on.” He lowers himself to one knee so Eddie doesn’t have to jump. 

Hesitantly, Eddie steps forward. He wraps his arms around Richie’s neck, Richie can feel a slight tremble in his limbs, but he chalks it up to all the walking wearing him out. 

Rising back up, Richie takes off up the steep incline. It’s really not so bad, except every now and again it’s almost as if you take one step forward and two steps back from sliding. Richie manages. 

In his ear, Richie feels Eddie’s ragged breaths. He says, “Can you not-breathe somewhere other than directly into my eardrums?”

Eddie doesn’t say anything in response, just pushes Richie’s head with one of his hands. His hand doesn’t come back down to rest around Richie’s neck, though, he keeps his elbow propped on Richie’s shoulder. Eddie’s fingers start to twirl the flyaway strands of hair around Richie’s ear.

Not again.

Richie picks up the pace, despite beginning to get tired himself. The hill is quite steep, and Eddie isn’t as light as his mother claims he is. 

As they reach the top of the incline, Richie feels almost disappointed. As if in response to his own mood, Eddie tightens his legs around Richie’s waist, crossing his ankles. Richie huffs out a breath, glad to not be walking uphill any longer. 

He makes his way toward the tunnel, not bothering to check the street for oncoming cars because almost nobody ever comes out here. He still hasn’t put Eddie down. 

Approaching his worn bicycle, he stares. In the shadows of the cool tunnel, putting Eddie down would make him colder. It would also mean that Eddie would stop playing with his hair. But he’s pretty sure Eddie knows this is the end of the line, too. 

Tapping Eddie’s leg tentatively, he loosens his grip on the boy. Eddie slides down his backside, bracing himself on Richie’s shoulders. The soft touch on his scalp goes in an instant. The soft touch on his shoulders goes, too.

Turning, Richie faces Eddie to say goodbye, but before he can get the words out, Eddie speaks.

“Why do you think they call this the kissing bridge?”

Richie is taken aback, “What?”

“I said: why do y—”

“I fucking heard you,” Richie shakes his head, dumbfounded, “What kind of a question is that?”

Eddie takes a step backward, and Richie doesn’t know what kind of medications he’s on at the moment, but it must be something new making him act so strange today. Richie doesn’t let him get away, though, for every step Eddie shuffles back, Richie takes two forward.

All afternoon, Eddie has been getting in his space, it’s his turn to repay the favor. 

“I just meant,” Eddie’s back hits the old cement wall of the bridge tunnel, “I just meant no one’s ever _seen_ anyone kissing up here.”

Richie is growing tired, “Yeah, and?” 

“Why do people call it the kissing bridge? Did they come up here just to kiss and tell?”

There’s no answer Richie can think to give him, but his lips spill anyway, “Why? Do _you_ kiss and tell, Eds?”

Even in the shadows, Richie can see Eddie go pink all the way to his ears. Finally, he’s got one up on him. For the first time today, Eddie just stops. 

Speechless, he stares at Richie. Richie stares right back, tired of whatever’s been going on all afternoon, whatever game Eddie’s been playing. He challenges, “Well, do you?”

“No,” Eddie croaks out. 

“How would you know?” Richie doesn’t back down, “Ever kissed anyone?”

Eddie whispers, “No.”

Richie knew that, it was facetious of him to pry in such a way. At this point, he couldn’t stop himself, “Whaddya say, Eds, do ya wanna kiss on the kissing bridge? See why they call it that?”

Adam’s apple plunging down, then pack up, Eddie’s face fell. He gave Richie an apathetic look, “Nice try, but no.”

His ears didn’t register the sounds fast enough for him to panic in the face of rejection, because despite his words, Eddie grabbed Richie by the collar of his hideous Hawaiian shirt, and yanked. 

It was a short journey, from his position already far into Eddie’s personal space. He didn’t have time to think a single thought before Richie’s chapped lips collided with Eddie’s, which somehow still had chapstick on them from the last time he reapplied. 

Their noses bumped, and Richie could feel how heated Eddie’s flushed skin was. Richie pulled back, Eddie’s hands still tightly gripping his collar. 

Eddie hadn’t even closed his eyes. He stared into Richie’s eyes, face filled with abject horror, “That was gross.”

Snorting, Richie rolled his eyes. Of course. But there still wasn’t any time for him to think, because Eddie surged forward again, gently laying his lips on Richie’s open mouth and applying pressure. He flicked Richie’s earlobe, “Close your mouth, dumbass.”

Snapping his lips closed, Richie’s brow furrowed. Their mouths came in contact again, for the third time. Apparently, Eddie wasn’t freaking out. 

It’s not that Richie had hoped he would freak out, but he was just trying to scare Eddie into leaving him alone. He guesses he just can’t shake him for today.

One of the hands on his collar lets go, coming up to hold the side of Richie’s face, to guide his movements.

Richie snaps, grabbing Eddie’s hand with his own, “You,” He pins Eddie’s hand to the wall by the wrist, “Cannot keep your hands to yourself today.” He mumbles into Eddie’s lips.

Pushing him away with his remaining free hand, Eddie quips, “Has it occurred to you at all,” He shakes his other hand free, then spins the two of them around, so Richie is against the wall, “That I don’t _want_ to?”

Already, Richie hadn’t had much capacity to think, but now his head went blank. No retorts, no challenges, and no holding back. 

Sinking back into the stone wall, Richie let the rough cement scratch the back of his arms as Eddie pinned him in place with his whole body flush to Richie’s. 

Continuing to press their mouths together, Eddie ran his fingers through Richie’s hair and it took everything in him not to whine.

Sometime later, maybe a minute or maybe an hour, Eddie pulled back. He looked at Richie, really looked at him, and his swollen bottom lip began to quiver. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Richie blurted out quickly, placing a hand on Eddie’s arm, “What’s wrong?”

Eddie took a gasping breath, “Did you,” He took a step backward, shaking off Richie’s hand, “Did you only do that because this is all some game to you?”

“What?” Richie still couldn’t think.

Turning his back on Richie, Eddie began to walk out of the tunnel. Richie ran to follow him. He nearly shouted in panic, “No! No, it’s not all a game to me.”

Spinning on his heel, once again in Richie’s face, he whined, “Prove it.”

Richie thought, “How?” Only to realize that he’d said it out loud. 

Looking scared shitless, Eddie only mumbled, “Find a way.”

Frantically, Richie scrambled in every direction. He looked around at their surroundings, wondering what he could do at this moment. 

It hit him.

“Eddie, wait!” Panic rose up in his throat as he cried out. 

Eddie stopped, turned back. He looked at Richie, “What?”

“Just quit running, would you?” He caught up to Eddie, grabbing his wrist, “Come here.”

Letting himself be dragged, Eddie followed Richie over to the fence connected to the kissing bridge tunnel. He was about to ask how a dirty old fence was supposed to convince him of anything at all. The words died on his tongue.

Richie dug into his back pocket, he pulled out a shitty pocketknife. He flicked open the blade, “Would you just stay here, for a second?” Richie looked up at him with worried eyes.

Crossing his arms, Eddie waited. He watched. 

Richie ran his fingers over the wood, feeling for other indentations. When he seemed to find a spot, ho dropped down to his knees. 

Unable to see what Richie was actually doing, Eddie stood by, getting angrier by the second. But when Richie pulled back form the fence panel, he melted.

_R + E_

He stared at it for a very long moment, then dropped to his knees to inspect it. Eddie raised his hand, running his index finger over the carving in the wood. He couldn’t speak for fear that he would start crying. His throat tightened, and he looked over.

Richie was already watching him, with soft eyes. Eddie wrapped his arms around Richie’s shoulders, burying his face into the crook of his neck. They stayed like that for a moment.

After a bit, Richie pulled back, “C’mon,” He stood, offering Eddie a hand even though he knew that he didn’t need the help, just wanting another excuse to touch him. 

When they arrived at Richie’s bike, he patted the handlebars, “Hop on,” He said for a second time that afternoon, “I’ll take you home.”

“If my mom sees me riding on your handlebars, she’ll kill me.” Eddie blurts.

“Well, then we just won’t let her see.” Richie tapped the makeshift seat a second time. 

Reluctantly, Eddie climbed on while Richie steadied the bike. He pushed off the ground, beginning to pedal toward Eddie’s street. 

“Say, why were you bothering me so much in the hammock earlier, anyway?”

He couldn’t see Eddie’s full face, but he could see the edge of his smirk as he said, “No reason.”

Richie jerked the handlebars, causing Eddie to grasp onto his hands at his sides, “You motherfucker, you just wanted to cuddle.”

No answer came from Eddie, but the mid-afternoon sun sifted through his hair as he threw his head back in laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on twitter @/wasteiandbaby or on tumblr @/wastelandbaby


End file.
